


Tournament

by Tarlan



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Collection: Fandom Stocking 2014, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3079754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wants a tournament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tournament

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clea2011](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clea2011/gifts).



> Written for a good friend, Clea2011 :)

"So what are the chances of that happening?" Arthur asked with a laugh, throwing his arms wide, and Merlin wished he could kick him because he was just asking for trouble. There was such a thing as tempting fate.

On the face of it, another tournament seemed like a grand idea but they tended to draw in an undesirable element looking for fame and fortune on the field, or easy pickings in the crowd. Of course Arthur was eager to compete - the pillock - and risk having his head taken off or some other mortal wound. Though at least he wouldn't have to pretend to be defeated by his aging father this time around.

Arthur was king now, and an easy target for any enemy of Camelot under the pretense of chivalry and honorable battle, but no one could dissuade him from entering the competition, not even Sir Leon.

"Merlin, get my armor polished, and sharpen my sword. Oh, and I think my boots need heeling, and one of my gauntlets had a dent in the..."

Merlin tuned him out as always, wishing he could tell Arthur to go do it himself if he was that eager to be an easy target. He gathered up what he could and, "Oy!" At least Arthur had the decency to wince in remorse when the boot hit Merlin on the back of the head, though he hid it fast. Couldn't have a king visibly worrying about his servants, after all. Not even the one he took to his bed every night.

Leon seemed to grow more tense as the day of the tournament approached and with good reason. He was trying to vet the entrants to ensure they came from respectable lineages but Arthur had insisted everyone should be allowed to enter, from the poorest village idiot - and was there a reason why he looked at Merlin just then? - to the highest nobleman, the King himself. Though Merlin might have applauded his inclusion of both peasant and noble in the past, it made it that much harder to spot a potential assassin.

"You have to persuade him to wait until later in the tournament before he competes," Leon begged, though why he thought Merlin would be any better at persuading Arthur was a mystery.

Much later.

"So you don't think I should fight a peasant." Arthur looked confused, "In case I... hurt him."

"Exactly! They haven't been trained from birth so you'd look more like a bully than a king." Merlin leaned in closer. "Wouldn't want everyone thinking you ordered the tournament just so you had a legitimate reason to batter the poor."

"Wouldn't it look equally bad if I refused to fight the peasants and joined the competition at a later point?"

"No. Not at all."

Merlin crossed his fingers behind his back as Arthur turned away to ponder on this, seeing an opportunity and casting a quick spell. The sudden clatter of metal hitting stone made Arthur jump and he winced as Leon's manservant tripped over the sword he was carrying while attempting to pick up the helmet he had dropped - with Merlin's 'help'. It was a pathetic sight but it seemed to do the trick.

Arthur grimaced. "You're right. Fighting poorly trained peasants lacks chivalry. I'll wait to the later contests before I enter the competition."

On the third and final day of the tournament, most of the remaining competitors were faces well known around the castle - Knights of Camelot - plus one other competitor who had stunned the crowd with both his sword and his jousting skills. The man wore a concealing helmet and armor so none had recognized him, leaving Merlin on edge.

As the day moved on it became clear that this man would eventually face Arthur in the final match so Merlin took up position close at hand yet still mostly hidden from sight, just in case he needed to save Arthur. The crowd roared as their King cantered along the length of the tilt towards his opponent, lances clashing on shields as they passed. Arthur grabbed a new lance and dug in his heels to set his horse back in motion. This time his lance struck true, lifting the other rider off his mount and crashing to the ground.

The crowd roared as Arthur threw down the broken lance and raised his arm high in victory. Merlin kept his eye on the loser, watching as the man regained his feet. He tensed, expecting an attack but the man simply raised his hands to remove his helmet. The cascade of dark hair brought a gasp from the crowd as the man revealed himself to be a woman - and not just any woman. It was Gwen.

Uther would have seen this as a grave insult. He would have ordered Gwen taken off the field and flogged, but after a moment of surprise, Arthur began to laugh. He climbed down from his horse and walked over, pulling off his own helmet and dropping it to the ground while Merlin breathed a huge sigh of relief. Arthur acknowledged Gwen's skill much to the chagrin of those nobles and peasants who had fallen to her in the contest.

Later that night, Merlin completed his chores and climbed into bed beside Arthur.

"So, how's Lancelot taking being bested by a woman?"

Arthur smiled. "I don't think he's too disappointed."

"Oh? Why's that?"

With a voice filled with exasperation, Arthur flung out a hand. "Am I the only one in this castle that knows anything? He asked for her hand in marriage and she accepted." He relaxed back down, stilling. "Now, can you get the-."

Merlin whispered and the candle on the other side of their bed chamber spluttered and blew out.

"Huh! We really must get that draught seen to," Arthur murmured as he rolled over to gather Merlin in for a passionate kiss.

END  
.


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